What do you remember most from COVID? Readers share their memories of isolation, camaraderie, loss, and hope

I gave birth to my daughter on March 1, 2020. Ten days later, the global pandemic was declared, and the lockdown began. My daughter had an “en caul” birth, meaning she was born still inside the amniotic sac, a rare event occurring in one in 80,000 births. I didn’t know then that she would remain in a protective bubble for the months to follow in our small two-bedroom rental apartment in Cambridge. My parents and siblings all live in the Greater Boston area, but they couldn’t be with her (with us) in those early weeks and months. We grieved the absence of our “village” around us.

— Ariella Ruth Goldberg, Cambridge

At first it was like a snow day. We slept in and kept weekend schedules for several days. I was fortunate to have a job I could do from home, but I quickly determined that I was not going to get much work done on an endless weekend, so I started getting up with the (always early-rising) kids and logging into my work email while they watched morning cartoons. We fumbled through the early weeks until a more regular schedule started to come together with online school and carefully masked day care.

— A'Llyn Ettien, Malden

My last assignment out in the world before lockdown involved interviewing the first mayor of a major US city to test positive. Miami Mayor Francis Suarez had been exposed to COVID days before at an event with a Brazilian government official whose positive test became international news. He and I stood on his private terrace overlooking Biscayne Bay. We were 15 feet apart, facing opposition directions, speaking loudly. He joked about greeting me with a hug. I did not laugh. I had to stay home for 14 days and try to avoid my roommate. To check my temperature, all I had was a fertility thermometer, the only one left at the pharmacy on the way home from City Hall. I didn’t get sick, but by the time I was able to leave my apartment, the world had changed.

— Joey Flechas, Globe reporter

This is a pinhole solargram photo made from my roofdeck in Somerville. It marks the number of suns between the peak of the COVID virus in Boston, from mid April 2020, to the time I got my first vaccine injection on April 7, 2021. The image was recorded on a piece of photo sensitive paper set inside a pinhole camera, then scanned into Photoshop. March 13, 2025, marked the fifth anniversary of the day I call "the great unraveling"… it was a Friday the thirteenth, my job shut down and told us to go home for "a few weeks," then my gallery called, my art show that opened a week prior was closing because of the virus. My inbox filled up with cancellations, it was surreal, still is to think about it….

— Mary Kocol, Somerville

My 102-year-old father was living in an assisted living apartment near me when at 4 p.m. on March 13, 2020, President Trump announced the closing of all senior housing communities effective at 5 p.m. that day. I grabbed my keys and went to see him. As it turned out, his visiting nurse had recommended that he begin hospice care, which meant he would be allowed one visitor. I was so grateful as was he, and the eight other residents — all members of the "greatest generation" — on his small hall. Whenever I came to visit — all masked and gloved up, I would stand in the hallway and chat with each resident who had "heel-toed" their wheelchair or otherwise managed to sit in the doorway of their apartment. All I could do was relieve loneliness and encourage optimism as spring approached and we all hoped for time out of doors, near enough to one another to have genuine conversations or even a cup of tea with another human. I was so grateful to be able to do that for all of them — and equally grateful that spring finally did come.

— Christine Moynihan, Walpole

When the pandemic hit, I was visiting family in Florida during my senior year of college. Within a matter of days, I found out I would not be returning to finish my senior year in person. I was on lockdown in Florida — a blessing I see now but one that was hard to see above the missed senior-year traditions and graduation. Quickly, the beaches and pools shut down too. I spent my days between virtual classes sitting in a beach chair in the parking lot, fighting off fire ants. But my sister and I spent most of our time chalking. We were in an elderly community, so we wrote colorful displays of positive messages and thoughts for our health care workers — including my sister who was an oncology nurse in a NYC hospital miles and miles away. It may not have seemed like much, but as each person stopped by to read our work on their daily walks, a smile passed their faces. And sometimes, that was enough.

— Shanna Kelly, Globe mobile apps producer

In March 2020, I was attending a family funeral in Indiana when I received a text from work saying the office was going into quarantine. I flew to Boston, took a taxi to my deserted office in Cambridge, gathered my computer and what I thought I might need, then went home. Since I lived alone, the security guard at the office was the last human with whom I had direct contact for two years! Although I avoided physical illness, that isolation scarred me. The icing on the cake was being laid off from my job in July 2020.

— Kathryn Kinsel, Salinas, CA. (She lived in Dorchester at the time of lockdown).

Our neighborhood in Hopkinton created a lot of outdoor, socially-distanced memories. Very early on in the lockdown — March 28, 2020 — we organized a "bear hunt" for the whole town. In the spirit of the children's book "We're Going on a Bear Hunt," we asked folks to display in their windows, yards, and driveways any stuffed bears they might have and then you could either walk or drive around town with your kids to find the bears. People posted on social media which neighborhoods had displays. Other events: socially-distanced Halloween Parade, people distributing candy from tables at the end of their driveways (wrapped, masked & gloved, of course!). Birthday parades were big in town, too. First Responders would come through the neighborhood with sirens and lights followed by friends and family of the birthday kid. Lots of community support to get us all through.

— Anne Mattina, Hopkinton

I had the great privilege of being the public information officer for Boston Hope, the 1,000 bed field hospital set up at the convention center. Days before it opened, we were preparing to allow the media to walk through the hospital in advance of the first patient admission (a decision had been made that once the first patient was admitted, media would not be allowed in the patient care area). As I prepared for the media walkthrough, I walked the catwalk high above the convention floor. It was an ominous and scary visual. One thousand empty beds awaiting an unknown number of patients. It looked like something out of World War II. COVID was still new and uncertain. We had no idea what awaited us at that field hospital. I remember going home that night with that visual in my head. That was the first time I was truly scared about our future.

— Rich Copp, Mansfield

Visiting my 3-year-old twin grandsons for Easter. We met on the sidewalk outside of their house staying 6 feet apart. They were wary of our masks and seemed a little afraid. We gave them Easter gifts and watched them open them from a distance. When it was time to leave, we did air hugs. They had practiced those new hugs and did them very well. But the hardest part was seeing the confusion on their little faces — why didn't we have real hugs? We drove away and cried.

— Pamela Gordon, Portsmouth, N.H.

In April of 2020, Boston Symphony Orchestra musicians received an email asking us to create content for our suddenly bereft audience members. A violinist and lifelong ballet lover, I partnered with BSO harpist Jessica Zhou and two dancers from the Boston Ballet, Paulo Arrais and Derek Dunn, to present an excerpt from "Swan Lake." Jessica recorded her part at home, as did Paulo and Derek. As there was construction across the street from my home, I recorded my part on stage at Symphony Hall — an email granting me permission to use the stage assured that proper COVID protocols would be observed and that the stage would be sterilized!!! Returning to that stage after two months away was emotional. It would be over a year before we would return to Tanglewood for our first live performances.

— Elita Kang, assistant concertmaster Boston Symphony Orchestra

During the pandemic I lived on Nantucket alone with my dog in a 325 sq ft cottage. Each morning before I logged onto the computer to teach ESL to kindergartners, I would walk into town at sunrise. I’d take a photo and share it on social media as a way to offer peace, beauty, hope and a bit of connection in such a isolating time. I continued this daily diary for over 100 days & connected with new followers all over the world!

— Nicole Ridge, Nantucket

Giving birth in May 2020. The first time my son saw me I was wearing a mask. Still breaks my heart to this day.

— Mary T. Pittsford, N.Y. (The author lived in Medford at the time).

Do you know what it’s like to hold the collective grief stemming from 1,200,000 deaths in your mind? In your body? I do. My partner’s best friend died of COVID in June 2020. She was hospitalized for weeks, stuck on a ventilator because of ICU terrors. Then she had multiple strokes and her family decided to take her off life support. Then she languished for three weeks before she finally died. When I really stop to think about what happened in this country, as well as every other country, it’s too overwhelming. It’s too painful to dwell on the grief, but I carry the weight of it.

— Nancy Howell, Brookline

The pandemic’s silver lining for me was the way we came together in the last half of 2020 on improvised patios, not only to support local restaurants, which in turn helped to feed those in need, but to rendezvous with loved ones. These reunions were precious and intimate. All of us who had sequestered in place — to doomscroll the latest news, to bake sourdough bread, to help our kids endure zoom lessons — were savoring face to face contact once again. I remember passing out large cat blankets at Tres Gatos, watching friends huddle against the cold, thinking, “We can do this!”

— David Doyle, Jamaica Plain

We became engaged March 9, 2020, after a visit to the Rhode Island DMV, and got married Aug. 15, 2020. There were many, many people at the DMV; we saw one person wearing a mask. Our wedding was in our back yard with as many in-person guests as RI allowed to be gathered at the time (eight guests, plus caterer & videographer), and lots more friends and family watching via live video. Some of our neighbors watched from their upstairs windows.

— Paul Schierenbeck and David Mann, Pawtucket, R.I.

In August 2020, following months of lockdown, we were able to open an outdoor beer garden and brewed a beer for the occasion. “Zoomed Out” was a Double IPA featuring artwork by our longtime illustrator partner, Chloe Feldman Emison. It was a perfect pandemic pint, best enjoyed in fresh air with loyal customers and old friends.

— Jack Hunsicker, CEO Lamplighter

One day in October 2020 I stopped by the Globe newsroom for the first time in months. The streets outside were empty, and 53 State Street looked like a ghost town. I had mail from April sitting on my desk. It felt like I was walking through a time capsule.

— Emily Sweeney, Globe reporter

In late November and early December of 2020, my mother was in the hospital for several weeks at a time when hospitals were not allowing visitors. We kept in touch via phone calls and texts, but it wasn't the same. When the doctor called to tell me she’d been diagnosed with liver disease, he said he didn't know whether it was the kind that would kill her quickly or the kind she could live with for months. If it were the first kind, he said, she would go immediately into hospice. Almost as a selling point, he said that if my mom were a hospice patient, I could see her. I'll never forget that god-awful, surreal moment I realized that deep down I was wishing for the worst just so I could see my mom. That dark wish came true; I got to see my mom the next day. It was her last lucid day, and I’ll cherish it forever.

— Chris Morris, Deputy Living Arts Editor

I took this photo of the scrum around the first COVID vaccination of a health care worker at Rhode Island Hospital on Dec. 14.

— Kathleen Hart, Narragansett, R.I.

My 96-year-old father died Dec. 19, 2020, five days after contracting COVID-19 in a nursing home on Cape Cod from his roommate. Although my father was observing all protocols for masking and isolation, his roommate was a Parkinson’s patient who had multiple treatments from staff coming in from outside that facility and became infected shortly before the vaccine was available. Although challenged with several physical issues, my father, an avid reader and mentally sharp, was getting on remarkably well prior to contracting COVID-19.

— John Dyer, Barnstable

When I got my first COVID shot at a CVS in Malden, I'll never forget the feeling. The place was packed! And after being away from crowds for so long, it was refreshing. Everyone seemed happy and enthusiastic. People looked each other in the eye and actually spoke to each other! I'd have to say, it seemed like many of us felt glee. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

— Andrew Nagelin, Medford

When the time came for going out to get the vaccines — we were the first in line — we were really scared about going out into the world. The picture is my husband preparing for the appointment. All four of us "suited up" and went to our Osco pharmacy inside the Shaw's supermarket in Brighton. I suspect others in the store thought they were being invaded by aliens!

— Noreen Hurley, Allston

I can remember being overcome with both joy & relief when my daughter was finally able to get me an appointment at Gilette Stadium for that first COVID shot. Fearing a flat tire or any form of car trouble, I happily got in my car in Reading three hours before my appointment to make the one hour drive to Foxboro. As I waited in line for my turn, I began to notice many of the people who were receiving the vaccine breaking down in tears after getting the shot. My God, I thought, that needle must really hurt ... little did I realize at that moment that the tears being shed were not from pain but were from joy & relief. WE WERE NOW SAFE! It didn't matter that day in Foxboro (I'm a New York Giant fan to boot!) whether you were a Pats fan or a Giants fan, Republican or a Democrat, North Shore or South Shore ... on that day we were all part of one joyful & thankful group. It's the one thing about COVID that I miss.

— Michael Moresco, Reading